Posing the Question
by Lunar1
Summary: Sequel to 'Stealing the Kiss.' My take on how Vimes actually managed to propose to Lady Sybil. Please R&R!


Captain Sam Vimes was on patrol, the rain hammering on his helmet and dripping off his chin. He enjoyed patrolling; it helped him to think. And Gods knew he needed some time to think at the moment.

He had been... oh what was the word? He was damned if he could phrase the intricacies of the relationship he was currently involved in with Lady Sybil. There, that was it. He'd expressed it, in a way. 

It wasn't as if he didn't enjoy her company. Far from it, he enjoyed spending time with her; there was no other reason that anyone could supply as to why he visited her so often. He was even trying (although not always succeeding) in giving up alcohol because he knew how much his drinking upset her. 

It was just that a part of him wondered whether he was continuing to see her because he truly cared about her, or whether it was because she was providing him with a way out... an escape from the mundane reality of his world.

He couldn't see what she saw in him. She had style, money... all the things he didn't and he couldn't see what was attracting her to him. He was skinny, unshaven, depressive, alcoholic... the list went on and none of it was good.

The decent thing to do, as he kept telling himself, was to call it off now before it got out of hand. Vimes had undergone plenty of suffering when it came to the pursuit of love, and he had learnt from bitter experience that the longer goodbyes were postponed, the harder they hit when they finally arrived.

But he couldn't call it off. He'd tried and failed countless times. In fact, every time he tried to break it off, he normally ended up getting further embroiled... it was somewhat vexing. Thus the thought had arisen that maybe ending it wasn't the /right/ thing to do. The thought had arisen in Vimes's brain that maybe the right thing to do would be to formalise the arrangement...

It had been Sergeant Colon that had put the idea in his mind. Just a chance remark in an awkward conversation a few days ago...

It had been Colon's wedding anniversary a few weeks ago, and Vimes had permitted him the night off for the special occasion, and had thus been privy to the following conversation as Carrot enquired into the details. 

"Well, lad. We'd been seeing each other for about three months and... well, basically her mother had a word with my mother who had... well, several words with my father, and then my dad had a word with me... and next month we got married." It was a typical tale of love in Ankh-Morpork, Vimes had mused darkly but it had set him thinking. 

It was five months since he had first kissed Lady Sybil.

Five months from the official 'first day' of their relationship

Five whole months. That was... one hundred and fifty days. At least.

It had to be one of the longest relationships of his life, although he seemed to have swapped the fervent passion of liaisons in his youth for longevity in this particular case. Not that he was complaining about that... he was far too old for that sort of thing...not that he wouldn't mind- 

He shook his head to clear his ...carnal thoughts feeling somewhat disturbed and carried on walking down the dark streets. His errant feet had lead him down to the Street of Cunning Artificers, past all the jewellers who specialised in cheap gilt and glass made to look more than its usual value...

He paused at the door of one jeweller, thrusting a hand into his pocket and jingling his pocket change. It was enough for deposit...

He had to make the decision now, and whatever way he decided he had to stick to it. If he bought a ring, here and now, he wouldn't just lose it some back pocket. He'd have to use it, if he bought it. /If/ he bought it.

Vimes walked slowly up the gravel path towards the Ramkin mansion his worn boots crunching on the stone chippings. His fingers touched the box in his pocket and he felt his insides freeze. His mouth was paper dry and his heart seemed to be hammering on the inside of his ribs. He'd never been this nervous in his life and he was taking it as a good sign. After all, if he didn't care about her then why would he be so nervous? At least that's what he kept telling himself... 

He managed to get through dinner in a sort of dream; later he found out he'd managed to carry out a coherent conversation in the three hours he sat at the dining table despite his mind being elsewhere. And now it was time for him to go. And he hadn't done anything. He hadn't asked any questions, not even ones like 'Would you be so kind as to pass me the salt?'

He stood up to leave, his heart still thumping madly. Surely he must be close to death by now if his heart was still beating at this rate? 

They had reached the door. 

There was the traditional brief pause, the one where Sybil would lay a hand on the door frame and he'd hesitate, half-in and half-out of the light, and she could see the longing in his eyes that was mirrored in hers, a desperate and burning desire to belong and to stay in the light and warmth.

Vimes bent inwards to deliver the timid kiss to her cheek that was generally the conclusion to all their evenings together, whatever had happened between them before their goodbye. He brushed her cheek with his lips gingerly, savouring the moment of comfort before he headed out once more into a hard, cruel world. His fingers touched the box in his pocket once more.

Something snapped. Somewhere deep inside Vimes something cracked and the flood waters of thirty years of suppressed anger, bitterness, awareness of the futility of his own actions, depression, hurt and too many other heart-rending emotions to name hit him with brutal force. His fingers closed around the box. He had to do it now, when his eyes were half-full of tears he was unable to let fall, when the realisation that here was his saviour, his way out, his chance to change, his chance for life-long lasting companionship, his one in a million chance to finally achieve happiness flowed in his veins like warm blood.

He half bent and half fell to his knees and Sybil gasped, thinking he had fallen, as he bought the box round in front of him. It wasn't a particularly expensive ring but the cunning artificers were masters of their craft and it gleamed in the light. "W-will you," he began in a voice choked with emotion, "Will you marry me?"

He couldn't look up to meet her eyes. He couldn't face seeing her rejection. His knee was complaining and his neck ached from being held in such an awkward position but he dared not move. 

He couldn't take it any longer. He looked upwards to see her standing in shock, hand still half outstretched to help him back to his feet.

"I'd be honoured to," she said and he nearly burst into tears there and then, he wanted to pound the floor with his fists and bawl, asking her through his sobs how she knew to say /exactly/ the right words. But he didn't, because in saying those words Sybil had sealed the cracks and he was stony faced Sam Vimes again, the man who could take it all and store it away, whatever it was, only bringing it out when it was needed.

He stood up. "Oh good," he said. She held out her hand and he gently put the ring on her finger.

"It's nice," she said, "How'd you know I liked blue?"

Vimes smiled slightly, "I took a wild guess." He wondered briefly what happened now, but thankfully Lady Sybil knew exactly what the etiquette for the current situation was. She pulled him inside and kissed him. After a few shocked seconds he kissed her back. The door clicked shut behind him.


End file.
